


Haunted

by strangetale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Gen, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:05:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4723607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangetale/pseuds/strangetale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Returning to Hogwarts is more of a challenge than Remus Lupin expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elennare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elennare/gifts).



He walked among ghosts.

The castle ghosts of Lupin's childhood troubled him not at all. Many had even welcomed him back to Hogwarts. It was the lingering remnants of his past that haunted him. Perhaps it was down to the Dementors or Sirius' escape, but everywhere he turned, he was confronted by the echo of voices not quite heard and the impression that James and Sirius and Peter were there, just out of sight. If he turned quickly enough, he would see the past, would _be_ the past.

He'd known it would be difficult to return to Hogwarts. Snape's lasting enmity was a foregone conclusion, although the Wolfsbane potion he brewed was the best Lupin had ever used. Dumbledore believed that Snape, given time, would realize that Lupin was a dedicated teacher and had been as much a victim of the Shrieking Shack incident as Snape.

Dumbledore could be a right idiot sometimes.

It was a jolt for Lupin to see how much his professors had aged. _Checked a mirror lately, Moony?_ he thought wryly, as he took a seat at the High Table. Teaching at Hogwarts was showing him a side of his colleagues he'd never witnessed as a student. Underneath Dumbledore's twinkle, he recognized cold calculation. Underneath McGonagall's sandpaper exterior, he saw unexpected tenderness. Underneath Flitwick's fussy mannerisms and Sprout's obsession with plants, he found shrewd intelligence and biting humor.

Even Snape surprised him. Lupin never would have imagined Snape as a mentor to anyone, but he was protective of his Slytherins. It went beyond blatant favoritism, although there was an abundance of that. Whenever the name of one of his Slytherins came up, Snape knew who was excelling and who was struggling, who was looking forward to an owl from home and who was dreading one.

“Someone has to care about them,” Flitwick observed, shortly after Snape excused himself to hurry back to a delicate potion. At Lupin's surprised look, he added, “The Slytherins, I mean. We can't afford to write the children of the last war off as dark wizards, simply because of their parent's allegiances.”

“They'll not go against their upbringing,” Sprout said.

“Likely not,” McGonagall chimed in, “but even a 'neutral' is a plus for our side.”

 _Our side?_ thought Lupin. “You speak as if we were already at war.”

Dumbledore's gaze strayed to the Gryffindor table, where Harry sat, laughing with his friends. “The seeds are ripening. One might go so far as to say that we're readying the combatants.”

Sprout was affronted. “They're still children.”

“For now,” Flitwick replied.

Lupin looked down at the House Tables and saw ghosts. The faces of his students blended too easily into the faces of mothers, fathers, aunts, and uncles. It wasn't just Harry, who looked entirely too much like James, or Neville, who resembled Alice. Nearly all of the purebloods and half-bloods reminded him of someone killed or damaged by the last war. _They'll not go against their upbringing_ , he thought, and found it difficult to look at the children without wondering about their roles in the next war.

 

The following day, Lupin's lesson for the younger years was about boggarts. He hadn't intended to start with Neville, but Snape's sneering exit grated on him. Neville was an extremely timid boy, compared to his parents. _Small wonder, if Snape's constantly belittling him. Dumbledore will do nothing, but McGonagall might be willing to have a sharp word with Snape, Head to Head_.

To his surprise, Neville transformed Snape's clothing into his grandmother's, right down to the hat with a vulture on it. _Not so hopeless, after all_ , Lupin thought with pleasure, while the other students laughed and cheered. _Snape will never live this down_.

His next class was second-year Gryffindors and Slytherins. “Normally, you wouldn't be seeing this until third year,” he told them, “but I thought I'd let you have a go.”

After rehearsing _Riddikulus_ , the students crowded into a line, straining to be first. Ginny Weasley's sharp elbows secured her position at the head of the line.

Lupin looked at the determined set of her chin, thought _Gideon Prewitt: never imagined him as a little girl_ , and released the boggart.

Ginny apparently had Prewitt's power as well as his facial expressions. Her boggart turned into an open book, surrounded by slithering tendrils of oily black smoke. Ginny blanched as the words, “You must do it tonight,” appeared, but she stood her ground, spoke the incantation, and watched with satisfaction as the letters twisted and stretched until they reformed themselves into a Martin Miggs comic.

“The Mad Muggle,” someone shouted in gleeful recognition. _Voldemort's diary_ , Lupin thought, as the children laughed and someone else stepped up for a turn. _I should have expected that. It didn't keep her from doing the job, though, and she's quick with a spell. She'll be an asset_ , one part of his mind said, while another part reminded him, _she's twelve_.

His last class of the day was second-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Some of the students had to be rescued from their boggarts by Lupin. “Not to worry, not to worry, this is a tricky spell for second years. In fact, I'm impressed that any of you can do it.”

The next two students vanquished their boggarts, although not so easily as Ginny had, then it was Luna Lovegood's turn. _Has her father's eyes. At least her parents survived the war_ , Lupin thought.

Luna's boggart was an attractive but oddly dressed witch, holding a wand. _Merlin, I'm an idiot. It's her mother_ , Lupin thought, and surged forward, but he was too late. The witch waved her wand, muttered an incantation, and disappeared into a fireball, screaming. Most of the students shrank back from the explosion, but Luna stood there, head tilted to one side, studying it curiously. “Luna—” he began, as the witch reappeared. _It's going to happen again_. He took another step forward, and the image of the witch began to dissipate in a swirl of cloud.

“Don't,” Luna said, edging in front of him. “I'm going to sort this.” There was a note of steel in her dreamy voice, and Lupin hesitated, as Luna intently watched her mother's death again.

“Luna, you don't have to—”

“I've got it,” Luna said, and she did. The next time, there was no fireball. Instead, a globe of water materialized around Luna's mother, drenching her as it collapsed. Her scream was replaced with a shriek of surprise, followed by laughter. Luna looked up at Lupin with an expression of fierce delight. “I told you I could do it.”

“You did indeed. Well done,” he said, smiling.

 

That evening at dinner, Lupin could see he'd been right about Snape's boggart. Many of the students were sneaking surreptitious glances at the High Table, then dissolving into giggles, apparently unintimidated by Snape's stony expression. Lupin resolved to have a word with McGonagall about Neville that evening, as Snape's treatment of the boy would likely become worse than usual.

“I understand you had a rather eventful day,” Dumbledore said. Only the smallest hint of a twinkle betrayed his amusement.

“It was certainly memorable,” Lupin agreed in his blandest voice. “Even some of the second years did well. Ginny Weasley got her boggart right away.”

“I've heard that Longbottom—” Sprout said eagerly.

“Was quite successful with his boggart, yes,” he interrupted. Snape tossed down his napkin in disgust, and left the table.

Flitwick smothered a smile. “And Miss Lovegood?”

“Is an extraordinary witch, in many ways,” Lupin answered, turning to him. “I tried to intervene, but she insisted on continuing.”

“That one has her own way,” said Sprout. “She never goes by the straight road, but always gets there in the end. Longbottom, too. All he needs is a bit of encouragement.”

“He surprised me,” Lupin admitted.

Dumbledore smiled gently. “That is one of the great delights of teaching. If we can persuade Augusta Longbottom to get the boy a wand of his own, he might be capable of anything. His mother was something of a late bloomer.”

“Capable of anything,” Lupin echoed. _Capable of fighting? Of being slaughtered?_ With a start, he realized that Dumbledore likely remembered the Sorting of every person in the Great Hall. He'd survived the aftermath of three wizarding wars, or was it four? He must live with ghosts every day. “What's it like, being here year after year?”

“No one ever truly goes away,” Dumbledore said. McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout nodded in agreement, looking thoughtful but not stricken. Somehow, they'd come to terms with ever-present reminders of the past.

 

As he left the Great Hall, Neville ran up to him. “Sir? Professor Lupin?”

“Yes?”

“I'm writing to my gran tonight, to tell her about the boggart.”

“I'm sure she'll enjoy hearing about it, Neville.”

Neville looked down at his feet. “The thing is, she might owl you to find out whether it's true.”

“I would be happy to tell her how proud I was of your performance. And that using her clothing was entirely my idea.”

“Thank you, sir!”

As Neville bounded away, Lupin thought, _And what will you become? A fighter, like James? A victim, like Peter? A betrayer, like Sirius? A weary survivor, like myself?_

It was difficult to imagine that Neville could ever have his parents' courage or ability, but perhaps Sprout was right: Neville was taking his own road, and would get there in the end. Sighing to himself, Lupin began the long climb to McGonagall's rooms. There was still the matter of Snape to deal with. And, if he could summon the nerve to ask, McGonagall might offer some advice about about dealing with ghosts, some insight that he could pass along to Neville and his other students one day.

 _Perhaps we are readying them for war,_ he thought. _But we must also prepare them for the life beyond_.


End file.
